by Gail Bowen
Delia shook her head. “No, stay – please. This is going to come out anyway, and when it does, I’ll need all the help I can get.”
I sat back down.
Like all good trial lawyers, Delia knew how to create a gripping narrative, and her first sentence was dynamite.
“The year I clerked at the Supreme Court, I got pregnant.” Her eyes darted between Zack and me. “I’ll spare you the need to ask the burning question. I didn’t get an abortion because by the time it dawned on me that I was pregnant, I was well into the second trimester.” She shrugged. “I know it sounds like something out of a tabloid but there was a lot going on for me that year. I’d never lived outside Saskatchewan, and when I was at the College of Law I was cocooned with the Winners’ Circle. Suddenly I was in Ottawa, passing powerful people in the corridors, and working for Theo Brokaw. Apart from you, Zack, he was the only person I’d ever met who was smarter than me.”
When Zack smirked, Delia’s glance was withering. “That’s nothing to preen about,” she said. “It’s just a fact. Anyway, clerking at the Supreme Court was heady stuff – highly competitive. We were always working late – trying to out-dazzle one another.” She smiled at the memory. “But we were also young and hormonal… ”
“And you met somebody,” Zack said.
Delia tilted her chin defiantly. “I met a lot of ‘some-bodies,’ ” she said.
The look Zack gave his partner was challenging. “That doesn’t sound like you, Dee.”
“Don’t push it, Zack,” Delia said, and her voice was steely. “I mean it. Let it go.”
Zack shrugged. “You’re the client.”
She tried a smile and softened her tone. “Come on. Cast your mind back. You remember the syndrome. You’re always at the office; you’re not getting enough sleep; it occurs to you that you’re missing out on life, so you decide to have a few drinks with the nearest warm body and you end up having sex. Usually it’s just like scratching an itch – a relief with no permanent after-effects.”
Zack’s frown deepened. He wasn’t buying Delia’s story, but he was willing to play along. “But this time there was something permanent,” he said.
Delia’s small chest heaved. “Yes, this time there were consequences, although it took me a long time to be aware of them. My menstrual cycle had always been erratic. I was running every morning, so I didn’t put on much weight. And then one day I felt something inside me move. I went to an ob/gyn in Ottawa who told me I was five months’ pregnant. She couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been not to read the symptoms. Anyway, I had the baby in Ottawa, signed the appropriate papers, came home to Saskatchewan, and started studying for my bar exams. Being back with the Winners’ Circle was like sliding into my old skin.”
“Did you alert the men who might have fathered the child?” Zack said.
Delia shook her head. “There was no point. The doctor assured me the baby was healthy, and the agency said they had a long list of good families waiting for an infant. It was a closed chapter.”
“But it’s open now,” Zack said.
“Yes,” Delia said, “and not because I want it to be.” Her fingers touched the pack of cigarettes in front of her as if for reassurance, then she opened her bag and removed the printout of an e-mail exchange. She handed it to Zack. “This arrived in my e-mail on November 22 – two weeks ago today,” she said.
Zack slipped on his reading glasses and began to read. Delia fiddled with her cigarette package until I went to the cupboard, took down an ashtray, and put it in front of her. She mouthed the word “thanks” and lit up. Zack slid the printout to me.
Considering the subject of the note, the tone was cool.
On September 29, 1983, you, Delia Margolis Wainberg, gave birth to a female child in Ottawa Civic Hospital. I have recently discovered that I am that child. My name is Abby Michaels. As an infant I was placed with a family, and until their recent deaths, I believed I was their natural child. My birth certificate, the adoption papers, and the genetic history you supplied to the adoption agency were appended to their wills.
A circumstance in my own life makes it imperative that I possess all data relevant to my genetic background. I would be grateful if you could supply me with the name and contact information of my biological father. You have my word that my only interest in communicating with him is to ascertain relevant medical information. Beyond that, I have no interest in communicating further either with him or with you.
Thank you for your attention to this matter.
I handed the paper back to Delia. “Did you get in touch with her?” I asked.
Delia nodded. “My doctor was on holidays for a few days. When he returned he gave me a précis of everything medically relevant that had come to light in the years since the baby was born. I sent the notes to Abby Michaels on November 30.”
Zack leaned forward in his chair. “What did you tell Ms. Michaels about her biological father?”
“The same thing I told you,” Delia said tightly. “I told her that during the period when I might have been impregnated I was sexually active, and I couldn’t identify her biological father. I wished her well, and said that if she required any further information, she should feel free to get in touch.”
“Did she?” Zack asked.
“She called that day I was in the car with Joanne. She identified herself. Then she said, ‘You’ll have to live with what you’ve done,’ and hung up.”
“Did that make sense to you?” Zack asked.
“No, because I’d done everything she asked me to do. Zack, none of this makes sense. You saw her e-mail to me. Two weeks ago, Abby Michaels was rational and in charge of her life. She wanted medical information, and I supplied it. Friday, she phones, pronounces judgment on me, and hangs up before I can ask her to explain; then yesterday she hands her child over to Isobel and says he belongs with me. What happened?”
“One possibility is postpartum psychosis,” Zack said.
Remembering Zack’s account of the woman who threw her baby from the bridge, my throat tightened, but Delia was cool. “I’ve had a couple of those cases,” she said. “According to my reading, the onset of the disorder is usually quite soon after birth. Jacob is six months old, and the woman who wrote that e-mail didn’t sound as if she was suffering from anything. She was absolutely lucid.”
“But she wasn’t lucid yesterday when she gave her baby to Isobel and said the child belonged with you,” Zack said. “Whatever’s going on, Dee, time is not our friend. The sooner you talk to the cops, the better. If anything happens to Abby Michaels because we screwed up, neither of us is going to be happy.”
Delia inhaled deeply and blew a smoke ring. “Okay, call your friend the Inspector – and tell her I’m Abby Michaels’s birth mother, and I want Jacob with me until they find her.”
Zack shot her a hard look. “You’re sure about this, Dee?”
Delia met his gaze. “I’m sure,” she said. For the first time, her voice faltered. “Jacob is family, Zack.”
Zack nodded. “In that case, I’ll call Debbie Haczkewicz and get the ball rolling.”
Zack was still on his cell with Debbie when the phone in the kitchen rang. The woman’s voice was patrician and assured. “Joanne, this is Myra Brokaw. I know it’s early to call, but I’m anxious to discuss Theo’s participation in the Supreme Court special.”
“Myra, I’m sorry. This isn’t a good time,” I said.
When she heard Myra Brokaw’s name, Delia’s attention shifted to me.
“Will there ever be a good time?” Myra said. Her words came rapidly. “I’ve given our situation a great deal of thought, and I believe I’ve come up with a plan that will work for us all. Will you at least come for tea and hear me out?”
“It’s the end of term,” I said. “And it’s a busy time of year. Can I check my calendar and call you back?”
“I don’t have a choice, do I?” Myra said. “I’ll look forward to your call.”
Zac
k and I hung up simultaneously. We exchanged glances. “You first,” I said.
“The Inspector is on her way over,” Zack said. “Your turn.”
“I need your silver tongue,” I said. “Myra Brokaw has invited me to tea so we can discuss Justice Brokaw’s participation in our show.”
Zack winced. “Ouch.”
“What show?” Delia asked.
“NationTV is enamoured of those Issues for Dummies shows I’ve been working on. They’re cheap, they’re Canadian content, and they fill up airtime. The network’s been talking about branching out – getting experts to explain some of the institutions that govern the lives of ordinary Canadians.”
Delia frowned. “And Myra wants to involve Theo? My God, what’s the matter with her? Why would she expose him that way?”
“I take it he didn’t improve after we left yesterday.”
“No, he couldn’t seem to get past the fact that I wasn’t the young woman who’d clerked for him,” Delia said. “He and Myra stayed for about an hour yesterday afternoon. It was awkward. Theo kept staring at me and shaking his head. He seems to drift in and out.” There was real sadness in Delia’s voice. “He told me he was working on a book, but when I asked about the subject matter, he seemed confused. The next minute he was all excited because his papa was baking poppy seed bread and he’d promised him a slice before bed. He couldn’t remember my name. He kept calling me ‘that clever girl.’ He’d turn to Myra and whisper, ‘You remember her – that clever girl.’ And she’d nod and smile and say, ‘Of course.’ ”
“Had you met Myra before yesterday?” I asked.
“There was some kind of reception they had for the students the year I was clerking, but that was it.”
“Do you think Myra brought Theo back to Regina to hide him away?” I asked.
The smoke from her cigarette drifted around Delia’s face, obscuring her expression. “Probably. Revealing that her legal giant has feet of clay certainly wouldn’t be in Myra’s best interests. She’s invested her life in him. My guess is she’s just protecting her investment.”
CHAPTER 3
Inspector Debbie Haczkewicz was a tall and powerfully built woman, with a smile that was as disarming as it was rare. Like most defence lawyers, Zack wasn’t a big fan of the boys and girls in blue, but he and Debbie got along. When her eighteen-year-old son, Leo, was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident, Zack had, initially at Debbie’s request, shown up at the rehabilitation hospital every day for a month, ducking Leo’s punches, insults, and the business end of his catheter until Leo was ready to talk and to listen. Inspector Haczkewicz hadn’t forgotten the favour.
When the Inspector arrived, we moved to the family room. I offered coffee, but Debbie waved me off. “Thanks, but I gather from what Zack says we should move quickly on this.”
Delia handed the inspector the copy of Abby’s e-mail and repeated the story she told us. When Delia said she was unable to remember the names of the men who might have fathered her child, Inspector Haczkewicz’s eyes were questioning, but she didn’t press the point. Twenty-seven years is a long time and, as Delia emphasized repeatedly, the sexual encounters had been casual. Having satisfied herself that Delia’s memory on that point was a dry well, Inspector Haczkewicz moved along.
Zack had no difficulty convincing her to authorize a search for a missing person. Although there was no evidence of foul play, Abby Michaels’s actions revealed a woman whose state of mind was fragile, and Debbie Haczkewicz had seen enough frozen bodies to know what a prairie winter can do to the vulnerable.
Zack had been concerned that Debbie might stick at the possibility of granting temporary custody of Jacob to the Wainbergs, but it was she who introduced the possibility. “Why not?” she said. “Abby Michaels made her intentions clear in the note she left in her son’s car seat, and it’s not as if Child Services is overrun by desirable foster homes.”
Zack handed the Inspector his camera. The photos from the concert were on display. “Take a look at these,” he said. “I’ve put them on a flash card for you in case you have to justify your decision later.”
Debbie Haczkewicz’s gaze moved from the images on Zack’s camera to Delia. “The physical similarity between you and Abby Michaels is persuasive,” she said. “But let’s cover all the bases. If you and Zack agree, I’d like to take a DNA swab.”
“Fine with me,” Delia said.
Debbie nodded. “Good. Given the fact that you’ve been cooperative and relatively forthcoming, there shouldn’t be a problem getting a court order granting you temporary custody.” Zack handed her the flash card and she dropped it in her briefcase. “The fact that it’s Sunday and the weather is godawful may slow us down, but I’ll do my best.”
Zack and I saw the inspector out. She reached for the doorknob, and then turned back to Zack. “Leo sends his regards. He loves Japan, he loves teaching English, and he loves his new girlfriend.”
Zack grinned. “A happily-ever-after ending,” he said.
“For Leo, yes, but not for me,” Debbie said. “Sapporo is a long way from Regina. I want my son to be happy, but I want him to be happy closer to home.”
When Zack and I came back into the kitchen, Delia was snaking her scarf around her neck. She stopped when she saw Zack. “So what are our chances?”
“Pretty good,” Zack said. “Deb seems convinced that granting you and Noah temporary custody is the right course of action, and when she makes up her mind, she’s a bulldog.”
Delia gave the scarf a final toss. “Okay, I’ll go back to the house and wait for the call.”
“Are you still planning to take the girls to the concert this afternoon?” I asked.
Delia raised her eyebrows. “You don’t think the school will cancel because of the weather?”
“Not a chance,” I said. “Lutherans are a hardy bunch.”
As she calculated her options, Delia was thoughtful. “Noah and I will drive the girls,” she said finally. “We need to be there – especially now.” With that, she headed for home, leaving behind the lingering scent of her signature Chanel No. 5 and many, many questions.
I asked Zack the big one first. “Is all of this really a surprise to you?”
“Believe it or not, it is,” he said. “And ever since Delia dropped the bomb, I’ve been trying to figure why she didn’t tell me at the time. As you’ve pointed out more than once, Delia and I are joined at the hip.”
Zack began clearing the table, handing me the dishes to rinse and stack in the dishwasher.
“And you never suspected anything?” I said.
“No, and Delia was back that Christmas. She stayed with Noah. I remember thinking Ottawa must agree with her. When we were in school, she was always kind of grubby, but that Christmas she looked great – new haircut, nice clothes, and her skin had cleared up.”
“Delia has beautiful skin.”
“She didn’t when we were in school. She ate crap – well, we all ate crap – anyway, she was always kind of spotty, but that Christmas she was a knockout.”
“Hmm.”
“Why the ‘hmm’?”
“That kind of physical change often means a woman’s in a serious relationship.”
“You don’t believe Delia was sleeping around, do you?” Zack said.
“No,” I said. “Neither do you and neither does Debbie Haczkewicz, but Delia made a decision about how she handles this part of her past, and she must have reasons.”
Zack handed me a bowl. “Delia always has reasons. I just wonder why she didn’t tell any of us. She must have felt isolated. Supreme Court clerkships begin in early September and end in September of the next year. Abby was born on September 29. Being pregnant, giving birth, and establishing a stellar legal reputation – that’s a lot to handle on your own.”
“Delia pulled it off,” I said. “She deserves credit.”
“She does. And to be honest, I don’t know how much help any of the guys in the Winners’ Circle would have bee
n if Delia had told us she was pregnant. All we knew about pregnancies was to avoid them at all costs. Blake was the only one who was geographically close to Delia. He was in Toronto, but Kevin was in Calgary, Chris was in Vancouver, and I was here, slaving away for Fred L. Harney.”
I wiped the countertop. “I always meant to ask you about that. How come you didn’t article with one of the five-star firms? You graduated at the top of your class. You must have had offers.”
“You bet I did.” Zack poured the soap into the dishwasher and turned the dial. “Paraplegics are highly desirable. A lot of big firms like to have a cripple they can wheel out to show how enlightened they are. But I didn’t have a year to waste being poster boy for the so-called differently abled. I knew how to research points of law, and I knew how to prepare memoranda of law, what I didn’t know was how to actually practise law. When Fred Harney called, I knew I’d just discovered my yellow brick road.
“Fred was heavily into the sauce when I articled for him. But even drunk he was one hell of a lawyer. I learned more sitting with him in court than I learned in three years in law school. That year he was blacking out a lot, and my job was to go to court with him and remember what happened.”
“People didn’t notice he was drunk?”
Zack shook his head. “Nah. Fred was a pro. Never slurred; never stumbled; never lost his train of thought. Flawless performance. Couldn’t ask for better representation, except for those huge gaps in his memory. That’s where I came in. When court adjourned, we’d go back to the office, and when he sobered up, I’d tell him what the Crown said and what he’d said. And here’s the wild part. Fred would critique the performances – both the Crown prosecutor’s and his own. It might not have been a five-star law firm, but I was getting a master class in the law. Sometimes, when I’m facing a jury, I can still hear him. ‘Don’t stint on the smouldering rage,’ he’d say. ‘Convince the jury that only the utmost effort of will is keeping you from erupting at the vast injustice that has brought your client to this sorry pass.’ ”
